


Balls!

by trillingstar



Series: Hardtime100 [24]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Community: hardtime100, Crack, Dick Jokes, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Logic, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4143576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Adventures of Cinder!Toby and the Talking Scorpion.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Balls!

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge #207: Fairy Tale; Beecher. Implied Beecher/Schillinger, Beecher/Keller. Fiona/OMC.  
> Word count: ~1900. Crackity crackity crack.  
> 

Once upon a time, there lived an unhappy young man. Unhappy he was, for his wife was dead, his father dead too. In fact, pretty much everyone around him seemed to come to some ghastly end or mauling. His mother had married another man, Vern, a widower with two sons, Ross and Robson, and his stepfather did not like him, not one bit.

Perchance a little bit, but no bits that the young man wanted Vern to like.

All of the nice things, nice-ish words, and not-so nice touches were for Vern's own sons. And not just the things and words, but also full-length shirts, boots with steel toes, untinted hair products, delicious cigarettes and conjugals, as well as every comfort that could be packed into the big house.

All this was laid on for Ross, and for Robson. 

But, for the poor unhappy young man, there was nothing at all. Only dresses made from scraps of ill-matched fabric, only crop tops, ripped fishnet tights, and kitten heels. Only dried-out processed foods and cheap drink mix. Only a thin pallet on a hard floor. For he had to work hard all day licking boots, following Vern around and pretending to hang on his every word, and scrubbing laundry, and only when count came was he allowed to sit for a while on the cold tile floor, near his stepfather's own bed.

That is how he got his nickname, for everybody called him Prag.

Prag had only two friends in the house: one was a scorpion that Vern had given him. Some gift it turned out to be, for the scorpion bit and stung at Prag's buttocks if Prag rolled over during the night, but Prag spent many long hours talking to Scorpion anyway, especially if he had just been visiting with Horse.

There came a time when Scorpion replied, "Hisssss!" which really meant, "Cheer up! You have something that neither of your stepbrothers have and that is only a measly four years until you may leave the big house! They're here for at least twenty-five years.

Also you're okay to look at, if you're into that kind of thing."

It was quite true. Prag, even dressed in tatters, with a wan pallor from being indoors all of the time, was a lovely young man. While his stepbrothers, no matter how uniform their clothes, were still bungling, boorish, lumpy, and foul, and they always would be. 

One day, the city crier stood in front of Vern and Prag's door and yapped for so long that Vern pretended to be asleep, forcing Prag to memorize all of Crier McManus' messages.

Two balls were to be held by -- no, that wasn't right. A ball was to be held in the Quad and the stepbrothers were to attend. Prag didn't dare ask, "What about me?" for he knew very well what the answer would be, but he rallied his spirits.

Vern chuckled. "You? My dear boy, you're staying here to wash the sheets, buff the floors, turn down the bed and then warm it up for me. I will return very tired tonight and I'll need you to do the work." 

Ross and Robson sneered at Prag as they left the room with Vern.

Prag sighed at Scorpion. "Oh, I'm so unhappy!" and the arachnid hissed, waving its venomous tail.

Suddenly something interesting happened. In the corner of the room, where Prag sat all by himself, there was a burst of light and a fairy appeared.

"Don't be alarmed, Prag," said the fairy.

"I'm not alarmed, Fiona," replied Prag. "I saw you setting up the spotlight earlier this afternoon."

Fiona swished a handful of glitter into the air. "I _said_ , don't be alarmed, Prag. The grapevine blew me your sighs."

Prag giggled. 

"Shut it, Prag," Fiona said. "Look, I know you want to get laid tonight. And so you shall! For I am your fairy godmother!" She kicked at the base of the spotlight and it flickered as she struck a pose.

"You're not really my type, Fi," Prag said. "Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment."

Fiona grimaced for so long that Prag began to feel offended. "It wasn't an offer. No, I meant at the ball!"

Prag rolled his eyes. "How can I, dressed in rags? The hacks will turn me away!"

Fiona smiled. Subjected to a pretty aggressive Z-snap, Prag found himself wearing the most beautiful full-length green tunic and a pair of tan tights that clung just so to the curves of his ass. 

"Wow," Prag said.

"I know!" Fiona said. "Now that we have settled the matter of the clothes, we'll need to find a way to sneak you in past Vern's pack of idiots."

"Hmmmm..." mused Prag. "I could just vault over the balcony railing?"

Fiona shook her head. "Honey, you're not that spry." Her face brightened. "Quick! Fetch me Busmalis' hat!" 

"Oh of course," said Prag, rushing away. 

Fiona turned to the scorpion. "You, bring me seven pricks!"

"Seven pricks," repeated the scorpion, stretching out its tail and readying its stinger. "I didn't know fairies liked pricks too!"

"You are precious," Fiona said. "Now do as you're told, and remember to make it sting!"

Prag soon returned with an only slightly battered fisherman's hat and the scorpion with seven pricks' worth of stored venom.

"Fantastic!" Fiona exclaimed. With another three snaps -- wonder of wonders! The hat rested on Prag's head, half-shielding his face from view, and six of the venomous pricks were stuffed into a little purse which Prag could use to disarm any gnarly advances from his stepbrothers while he searched for his Prince.

"It won't kill them," Scorpion explained. "Just a little bite."

Yet another snap and the seventh prick turned into a strapping young man about Prag's age, but with a lot more dark chest hair and some truly memorable cheekbones, wearing a smart pair of tight leather underpants and carrying a whip. Prag could hardly believe his eyes.

"Annnnd, that's that," Fiona said, reaching past Prag to slide her hand around the man's bicep. She licked her red lips. "See ya later!"

"Wait," said Prag. "How will I know which one is my Prince? What shall I say to him? How will I reel him in? Do I have to be back by a certain time? What if Vern discovers me at the ball?"

"Not really my problem, sweetie," crooned Fiona. "My social calendar just got packed."

Prag wrinkled his nose. "TMI!" 

But Fiona and the man were already gone, down the stairs and disappeared.

At Prag's feet, Scorpion hissed, which really meant, "Cheer up! Also, maybe don't introduce yourself as Prag. Use your real name, instead. And maybe don't kneel."

Prag gasped. "But he'll be my Prince!"

"Yeah..." said Scorpion. "Just save the kneeling for when you two are alone."

"All right," Prag said, determined. He squared his shoulders and smoothed out his tunic, then crept out of the room, silent as a mouse.

When Prag entered the Quad, a hush fell. Everyone stopped in mid-sentence to admire his loveliness, his light step and perfect little nose peeking out from under his hat.

"Who can that be?" People asked each other. "Surely Busmalis hasn't dug his way to the fountain of youth!" The two stepbrothers also wondered who the delectable morsel was, for never in their lifetimes would they ever have guessed that the sparkly young man was really poor Prag who talked to thin air!

It was made clear that Prag's Prince was the dark-haired man with the commanding presence and scowling countenance. When the Prince set eyes on Prag, he was struck by Prag's little mutters and murmurs, by his broad shoulders and long, sturdy-looking fingers. Walking over to the man in the hat, the Prince leered deeply and asked Prag to dance.

And it was to the great disappointment of all of the other ball-goers, that the Prince both danced and sang in the choir with the mysterious stranger all evening.

"How _you_ doin', hot stuff?" the Prince kept asking, and finally Prag replied: "What does it matter how I am! You will never be allowed to see me again anyway."

"Then let us at least exchange names and home-brewing tips, so we may meet again in our alcohol-soaked dreams," the Prince said, stroking his fingertips down Prag's arms, causing gooseflesh to rise.

But Prag felt himself become tongue-tied, and he avoided the Prince's heated gaze, and thus never gave the Prince his real name.

"You will not see me again," was Prag's only reply.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong," the Prince whispered into Prag's ear. 

Prag had a wonderful time at the ball, but, all of a sudden, he heard the sound of a buzzer: the first warning before count! He remembered what Fiona had said about not letting Vern catch him at the ball, and without a word of goodbye he slipped from the Prince's arms and ran up the steps to his room.

As Prag ran, the pilfered hat fell from atop his head, but not for a moment did he dream of stopping to scoop it up! If he was not home before Vern... oh, what a disaster that would be! Prag shivered at the very thought. Up he fled.

The Prince, who was now madly in lust with Prag, picked up the hat and said to his gang, "Go and search everywhere for the man whose head this hat fits. I will not ever be content until I find him!"

Prince Keller and Aggie Busmalis were married the next day. Prag watched the lavish ceremony from behind the railing and sobbed.

"Oh, shit!" Fiona cried out as her magical prick brought her off one more time. "Fuck, no, shit." She sat up and reached down her shirt for the little golden hourglass she kept nestled between her tits. Turning it twice, she glared at the man between her legs. "Fucking distracting, is what you are. Dammit!"

The air throughout Emerald City shimmered, hazy, and with a snap Prag found himself in the Prince's arms again, dancing around the Quad. But – this time – he was hatless! The onlookers gasped and pointed. 

He stared down at the Prince's magnificent ass and said, "My name is Toby. I like dirty martinis, driving too fast, and fairies."

Prince Keller dipped Toby nearly down to the floor. "The pleasure is all mine."

Flanked by Ross and Robson, Vern shouldered his way to the front of the crowd to confront Toby and his Prince. "That awful excuse for a prag should not have even been here," he shouted. "Keller, you ought to get with one of my two sons! Can't you see how much crap this little asshole's going to put you through!"

"Little asshole, huh," Keller mused. "I like the sound of that."

Toby grinned. He opened the bag of venomous pricks and released them, and all of the denizens of the City laughed uproariously as Vern, Robson, and Ross were beat about the face with large, stinging pricks.

"Come with me, Toby," Keller said, extending his hand. "I can't wait to heartily grope you while pressing you up against the wall after count."

"Oh, I'm coming all right," Toby replied, and they ducked away into Keller's accommodations.

And as for the scorpion, he just said, "This should end well."

And it did!  


**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on LJ](http://hardtime100.livejournal.com/446121.html).  
> 
> 
> Loosely based on [this retelling of Cinderella](http://childhoodreading.com/cinderella/), but don't be fooled by the byline -- [here is the original story](https://pitt.edu/~dash/perrault06.html) by Charles Perrault (as found in the _Blue Fairy Book_ ).
> 
> If you're curious about Cinderella and/or folk-fairy-tales-and-lore, [this covers it](https://pitt.edu/~dash/type0510a.html).


End file.
